Razkar's Rantings/Ravings/Records

[Razkar]

This was here, but I felt my post there smacked of self-aggrandizement, so I seized the chance to put it elsewhere and start my Scrapbook! Birds and stones, gotta love 'em...

To say I'm addicted to TV Trope and Idioms is like saying that AC/DC have made something of a splash in the world of music. If we could get a Mizahar page, it would a) be truly friggin' awesome and b) given the guys and gals on here, it'd be the longest page there within a month.

And, like a true troper, I've given some thought to Razkar.

An Ax To Grind: One of his main weapons is a hand ax, modified with a larger-than-normal blade and a Malediction-worked bone hilt from a dead Akalak.
Ax Crazy: Played with. Many people see him this way, but it only really comes through on the battlefield... and whoo-boy, does it ever...
Beserk Button: Do not, for the love of the gods, threaten or hurt Edreina in his presence. It will not go well for you.
Blood Knight: Razkar life is pretty much defined by fighting and warring for the glory of Myri, and because he enjoys it.
Chaotic Neutral: Probably the closest Razkar comes to in terms of Character Alignment, with shades of both Chaotic Good and Lawful Evil. He doesn't care about the reasons for the battles he fights, since his goal is purely to please Myri with blood and death. He also possesses a typical Myrian attitude that has no problem with genocide against encroaching races, and has trouble understanding the concept of taking prisoners for any reason other than ritual sacrifice. That said, he's not an indiscriminate murderer and does strongly believe in paying his debts and staying loyal to those who have earned it.
Character Development - A whole heap since his conception. He's gone from a nihilistic, mercenary zealot to a nuanced and honorable warrior whose primary concerns are glorifying Myri and the protection of his people. It's pretty clear from his internal monologues that his Pilgrimage will soon be cut short so he can return to Falyndar and continue to serve his people.
Church Militant: A pretty good description for Razkar, since his main drive as a warrior is to honor his Goddess-Queen.
Combat Pragmatist: Razkar doesn't care how he wins a fight, as long as he does.
Does Not Like Hypnotists: Despises and secretly fears Hypnotists for their ability to manipulate the minds of others. However, he has no problem with using his Gnosis from Myri and is learning The Flux, Morphing and Shielding to augment his already-impressive strength and speed. Basically, Razkar has no problem matching wits and strength... as long as you aren't directly fucking with his head, too.
Dual Wielding: Disdains shields, like most Myrians, and prefers to fight a gladius-ax combo.
Even Chaotic Neutral Has Standards: Despite his general bloodlust and unapologetic warlike ways, Razkar is disgusted with the concept of slavery... not that is stops him from working for slavers when that's all there is available, however.
Good Is Not Nice: If you can call Razkar "good", anyway. Before he is and indeed after, he's still a merciless killer whose idea of protecting his people and those he loves revolves around exterminating everyone who could be a threat to them.
Human/Zith/Zhani/Whatever Sacrifice: Often rips out the heart of his enemies while they're still alive and devours it in front of them as an offering to Myri. Then scalps them. And eats other parts of them.
Hungry Jungle: Grew up in one. Certainly explains a lot, doesn't it?
The Lost Lenore: Ayatah, his first love in Falyndar. She went to Zeltiva to study and when he got there, he found she'd vanished again to the Isle of Darva. Played with in that while he does still love her, he is firmly in love with Edreina, and mostly wants to make sure his former lover is alive and safe.
Made Of Iron: Takes a lot to put him down and keep him there. His Brawling stats alone means he can theoretically shrug off anything short of decapitation and blows to major organs and stay lethal. No guarantee if he'd recover, of course...
Master Gladius-Man: Getting within arms reach of him when he's got a gladius in his hand is a very bad idea. Thought he's also maxed out his Hand Ax stats and Brawling as well, to staying away entirely would probably be wise.
Nightmare Fuel: Read some of the threads where he does the above mentioned sacrificing. Not a pleasant experience...
Noble Savage: Deconstructed. See Good Is Not Nice above. He does have nobility, in the form of his duty, his sense of honor and his code of conduct. But he's still a savage, is fully aware of it, and doesn't care a jot.
Opposites Attract: Look at Raz. Now look at Edri. I rest my case.
Private Military Contractor: Currently working as a mercenary (or "sellsword").
Proud Warrior Race Guy: Comes from a whole race of them.
Psycho For Hire: Definitely shows shades of this. Razkar enjoys killing and often takes pleasure in inflicting pain during battle. His devotion to Myri is probably the only thing that stops him being an out-and-out mass murderer.
The Spartan Way: His training in the Taloba Army certainly qualifies. Hells, his very upbringing probably does, in line with the militaristic nature of Myrian culture.
Star-Crossed Lovers: With Edreina, a relatively innocent and adventure-hungry Svefra he met while sailing from Riverfall to Anchorage. Their blossoming relationship and genuine love for each other has even prompted "Radreina" shippers.
Walking Armory: *deep breath* Gladius, hand ax, kukri, double-bladed dagger, two knuckledusters, shortbow, push dagger... and his teeth filed to points probably count, too. Even if he didn't have all of that, he's a master brawler easily capable of killing with his bare hands. Razkar has become less of a "Walking Armory", and more a "Lethal Weapon Decorated With Other, Smaller Lethal Weapons".
Walking The Earth: Left Falyndar specifically because he thought he'd find more war and carnage among the wider world. So far, he hasn't been disappointed.
War Is Glorious: Certainly believes this, and has difficulty understanding why everyone doesn't think the same way.
We All Die Someday: If he's alive, he can fight and slay and sacrifice to Myri. If he's dead, he can serve her in the afterlife or come back as yet another blood-hungry Myrian warrior. Either way, Razkar doesn't trouble himself too much with his own mortality.
Would Not Shoot A Civilian: Zigzagged. Razkar doesn't like slaughtering unarmed civilians, and thus far we haven't seen him do so, but it has been heavily hinted that he has participated in the "cleansing" of encroaching races. While he did not enjoy doing so, he didn't shirk from what he saw as part of his duty to Myri and his people.

[Razkar]

I love the simple yet chilling imagery here...

[Razkar]

"The Parting Glass"



Yes, it's purpose is to shill booze. Yes, it's overly-romantic and often silly. But it's beautiful, haunting, wonderful and never fails to raise a smile.

"Of all the money that e'er I spent,
I spent it in good company,
And all the harm that e'er I've done,
Alas! It was to none but me.
And all I've done for want of wit,
To mem'ry now I can't recall,
So fill to me the parting glass,
Good night and joy be with you all."

[Edreina]

I found a picture of Razkar in drag!



...I remembered how you like Asians... xP

[Razkar]

I hate you so much it makes my brain ooze out the soles of my feet.

[Razkar]

I lost my mother tonight.

Not the woman that gave birth to me; we haven't spoken since I left England and neither of us has much interest in ever doing so. Long story.

But there was a woman I found, named Kelly, about twenty years older than me. A friend of a friend. We met and we connected. I offered to help tile the floor of her new house, and over days with me on my hands and knees and covered in grout, we bonded.

I've been married before; I've been in love before. But I have never had such a close and fierce affection for a woman in my life. Kelly was five feet and three inches of Apache/Carolinian, and she led an amazing life. She was a model throughout her college years at SCAD, and met Metallica once when they played a gig there in the Eighties. They bought one of the tie-dyed T-shirts she and some friends were making. She was a bodybuilder after that, and still had some of the physique left from that (woman knew how to throw a right hook, too).

She lived in New Mexico, Texas, Georgia... she toured the South, chasing work, or men, or excitement. She was married to an Army Ranger, a mobbed-up half-Sioux and a Tribal Sheriff of the White Mountain Apaches who was also their most accomplished medicine man. She worked for Gulf Stream for years, and by the time she met, she was living on her pension after surviving a heart attack eleven years before, the ravages of which they said would kill her in six months.

She got bit by a Brown Recluse last year, on her toes. She wouldn't amputate them, because with her heart so damaged, anaethetic could have killed her. So she tried treatment, and I tried to take care of her. But the pain got too much... she went to hospital... and the toes were taken.

But a blood clot caused another heart attack. They just about saved her, and after coming so close to death, she survived again! She was getting better, little by little. Moving to a better facility in Greenville, NC, her levels were great, she was speaking, frisky, flighty...

Then I get a call last night. God... this still so fresh. But I have to get it out. Here seems as good a place as any. I love this site, even though it is just paid-for domain dressed up in fancy codes. But here... I can write. Perhaps that will help.

Her brother texted me at 5PM. Said she was doing better, talking still, but really tired. I was about to text the good news to our friends-

Then he called.

"We lost her."

It was another clot, they think, this time while she slept. She went peacefully, and I am grateful to whatever force or chaos keeps existence spinning for that. She was so frightened of the fluid on her lungs drowning her alive. But she was spared that, if nothing else.

She died in her dreams. What could be better?

Kel didn't trust easy, but she let me into her life, he house... all of her history, glorious and shameful. She supported me financially when I lost jobs. She always loved to spoil me, and I don't know if I'll ever find someone who loved doing that, just to see me smile. Everything in my life, she was a part of, because he became such a huge part of it. It' perfectly accurate to say that no-one left alive knows her quite as well as she did. She had far from perfect wisdom, but she was smart and hard years had made her savvy. I trusted her counsel in any matter and she indulged a silly boy from Peterborough by doing the same with me.

This is so hard. Seven hours and I already miss her so badly.

I want her back so badly. My best friend. My room mate for years. My American mother.

But she isn't coming back. I have to go on and I don't know how. So much has to change and that terrifies me. I fear so badly her memory will fade and she'll become just another half-remembered face. I fear for letting her down.

And most of all I wish that I could believe there is something after. Because then I could see her again. See her smile and scowl at me when I sassed her. See her play with her dogs and cook.

She never used measuring cups; she just used handfuls, and everything she made was exquisite.

I'm not expecting replies or condolences. I just had to get this out. Because she was the bright and beautiful soul mine revolved around... and now she's gone. I'm so empty and hollow and even after two days without sleep, I can't drop off. I fear what I'll see thee, and hope that if I stay up, maybe Jerry will call back, and it was all a mistake, and... and...

This hurts so badly now. It will fade, I hope... and my memories of her will not be the sickly figure with tubes in her nose and body swollen from internal liquid. They'll be of the lady that rocked cowboy boots and zip-up tops; that had men younger than me fawning over her.

She loved everyone. She cared for people from all walks of life, and made friends with bikers, soldiers, entrepreneurs, artists, musicians, cops, lawyers, gay, straight, omni, black, Asian, Hispanic and more Native tribes than I could keep count of.

She had a soul that could have embraced the world. She certainly embraced mine, and made it better and brighter.

Brown eyes and black hair. A little twerk of her neck that told you she was very unimpressed, and you should stop (like, now). A smile and a laugh that could make a statue crack a smile. Everything I would have wanted in a mother, and had... and I won't lose it.

What do I believe? I still don't know. But I know what I hope.

I hope I can see you again, free from pain and wonderful as when we first met... and you'll be proud of me.